You there God? Its Stan and Kyle and We Hate You
by Emmie Monster
Summary: Fun times with the evolving relationship of two super best friends at business camp lead to Kenny wondering what rhymes with orange, a bet that will make or break either Cartman or Wendy’s empires, Stan paranoid about prom, and Kyle cowering under a desk
1. You're manwhores, both of you!

Are you there, God? It's us, Stan and Kyle…and we HATE you.

A Fanfiction

When a bedraggled and exhausted looking Kyle shuffled in through the classroom door on that fated Monday, instead of greeting his best friend with a typical "hello" or "good morning", he merely stated, "You know, I learned something yesterday," before flopping haphazardly, perhaps with some melodramatic flair, into the chair of the desk next to Stan.

He then launched into an excruciatingly detailed account of the day before, Sunday, to be exact.

It had started off fairly normally, or about as normal as everything starts for the denizens of South Park.

The coffee grinders in Harbucks were particularly piercing, for some reason, filling the air with that familiar, bitter tantalization that is roasting coffee beans. Even prior to actually ingesting it, most regard coffee as the ultimate stimulate for the senses.

Kyle, being a particularly sensitive (though Eric Cartman would say bitchy) individual, was particularly attune to this on that Sunday, as he stared down Scott Tenorman until he held open the door to the coffee shop, allowing Kyle to make his entrance.

It was all going well, until Kyle happened to notice the table in the corner, littered with an indeterminable amount of empty coffee containers, nearly obscuring Tweek's figure as he repeatedly slammed the back of his head into the wall behind him, chanting his mantra through clenched teeth, "Can't…handle…the…pressure!"

Being the sensitive individual that he was, Kyle decided that it was best to let Tweek deal with whatever problem he had on his own, because really, a particularly over-caffeinated white kid experiencing personal turmoil and attempting to solve it themselves by inducing more drama often led to interesting misadventures, and given that it _was_ Tweek, the high-prince of the over-caffeinate…

Also, Kyle decided that he really didn't want to know. Like, really, _really_ did not want to know, at least until the aforementioned misadventure occurred.

And so it was that Kyle attempted to neatly slip off undetected, with a steaming container of black, blaring awareness in the form of risk of destruction to the colon and heart in hand.

Unfortunately, given that Tweek was apparently more buzzed than most would consider humanly possible, his heightened senses detected South Park's teenage Jewish community from across the coffee shop.

"K-KYLE! AH!" He shrieked, and momentarily paused in inducing whatever more brain damage he could possibly wreak on himself to flag Kyle down.

Given that he had a tendency to be profoundly moralistic in addition to sensitive, Kyle found himself approaching Tweek's table, not without some chagrin. He'd been hoping to catch Stan after Church and go do something…

But…it was as if Tweek were shipwrecked among the ruins of a coffee raid. His head, its hair forever tousled and untamable and blonde, bobbed along on his jittery neck, almost as if her _were_ in the sea, clinging to the table to keep him from drowning. Clinging to the table full of the discarded remains of his ship, the S.S. Caffeinated High. Unless, of course, whatever dregs of coffee remaining in the containers were actually unearthed pirate treasure. Now that he realized this, Kyle found he couldn't leave Tweek to bob until he let go and drowned in his problems.

"Hey, Tweek. The Underpants Gnomes still giving you hell?" He asked.

"Ahh…no, not since…Craig…," Tweek paused, during which Kyle heard the unmistakable crackling and zapping of television static and was almost convinced that it was indeed coming from Tweek's brain. Tweek then cried out, sounding not unlike a savage monkey, and then went back to hitting his skull against the wall, this time in a faster, more rhythmic pattern.

"Dude! What the hell?" Kyle asked, but was in truth much more astonished than exasperated. Then he wondered if crazy was contagious, and found himself edging away from the table slightly.

"No, don't go," Tweek's voice cracked as he pleaded, almost in some kind of desperation, "Uh…ah! The pressure…"

Obviously, Kyle had been wrong; Tweek wasn't one who you left alone to deal with his own problems after all. Sighing, Kyle resigned himself to spending his afternoon on Suicide Watch for reasons that had yet to be illuminated.

"Uh…uh, I'm AH…going to see a movie, would you go with me?" Tweek asked.

Kyle, who knew all too well of Tweek's preference for Chick Flick's (mostly because anything else with substantial plot or action sequences wound up getting him easily distracted or even more jittery and he just wound up confused), was reluctant to say the least, until Tweek promised him that the movie that he was thinking of was about cowboys.

That said, it turned out to be the most uncomfortable two hours and fourteen minutes of Kyle's life. Maybe it was because he had been tricked into seeing _Brokeback Mountain_ (and while the acting and script were both very realistic and touching, Kyle found that for some reason he felt that the most entertaining aspect of the film were the nearly comical looking shots of the sheep, which frequently sent him into a snickering fit). Maybe it was because halfway through the film Tweek screamed, "GAH! Too much pressure! I can't take it!" and then started bawling into Kyle's shoulder. Or maybe it was because Craig was sitting in the seat directly behind them, glowering with profound intensity.

Nevertheless, Kyle found that he was almost as jittery as Tweek on a good day by the time they were leaving the theater.

"I guess it was beautiful." Tweek commented through his sniffling and twitching.

"The cinematography was very good…" Kyle said, checking his watch. Four o'clock. He had just enough time to go see if Stan was up for tossing a football around.

His hopes were dashed when Craig emerged from the theater, looking royally pissed off.

"Tweek! Broflovski!" He bellowed, flipping them both off.

Tweek screamed and cowered behind Kyle, which would have been effective because coffee had indeed stunted Tweek's growth, leaving him barely five foot five at age sixteen, had it not been for the fact that they were both equally uncomfortably thin.

"Tweek, you told me we'd go see that movie together! What is he doing with you? One stupid argument and you're already with…him? You're man-whores, both of you!" Craig shouted.

"Whoa. Ok, way too much information…" Kyle said, now more desperate than ever to get away.

"You stay out of this! Does Stan know that you're cheating on him?" Craig said, waving his index finger threateningly at Kyle, who, in fact, would have liked nothing more than to stay out of it, but he felt the urge to protect his honor overwhelming.

"I am not cheating on Stan! Super Best Friends are allowed to hang out with other people every once in a while. Its not like we're dating…oh, wait a minute. You're insinuating…and you two…"

Before Kyle could finish his train of thought, the other two had launched into a full out rancor that consisted of Craig just seeking to get even more pissed off and succeeding, and Tweek shrieking about pressure and his inability to handle it about every five seconds.

Finally, Kyle, realizing that it was midnight and he was still in public with his reputation getting destroyed with every strange look from every passerby, threw his hands in the air and home, officially declaring his Sunday wasted.

The next day, after Kyle finished relaying this to Stan as he listened patiently, they sat contemplating it for a few minutes before Stan asked,

"So, what exactly was it that you learned yesterday?"

"Ah, yes, that," Kyle said, sitting up in his seat, "There is nothing more painful than watching a couple air out their dirty laundry in public. This is especially true when the couple happens to be two guys, outside of the Bijou Theater, in South Park, Colorado, as families and various other persons are entering and exiting."

"Indubitably." Stan said, trying very hard not to laugh, because Kyle was obviously deadly serious.

Kyle, who had been watching Stan closely as he had iterated his long, tortured tale, arched an eyebrow at him.

"…You already knew all of this, didn't you?" He asked.

Stan, now unable to contain himself, started laughing and nodded.

"Small town. Stuff gets around."

As much as Kyle wanted to remain strung out and perplexed about his prior situation and his now obviously doomed reputation, Stan's laughter and good humor were infectious, so he had to laugh, too. Stan was a marvel that way. Then again, to Kyle, Stan was something of a marvel in most ways.

"So, what, that makes ten people who think we're dating?" Stan asked, ticking off names in his head, physically manifesting each with his fingers.

"Nine. Fat Ass doesn't count because he's just giving us a hard time." Kyle said, and turned to shoot a decidedly nasty look at Cartman, who looked up from his attempt to finish the homework that would be due whenever it was that their negligent Spanish teacher decided to appear.

"Hey, for someone who is trying to convince everyone that he's straight, you sure spend a lot of time commenting on my ass. Careful, Stan, after the Tweek incident we know that your Jew has commitment troubles. Watch it or he'll be fantasizing about me next while you're making out." Cartman retorted.

"Oh, God _Damn_ it, Cartman! More like you wish I were fantasizing about you." Kyle said.

"Did you just fail to deny that you've been making out with Stan?" Kenny voiced, suddenly deciding to enter the conversation. He'd been ogling Bébé's chest again.

"That makes ten and a half right there, with Cartman counting as the half." Stan said, gesturing toward Kenny non-chalantly, as though it were completely normal to be tallying the amount of people who believed or suggested that two supposedly heterosexual boys were somehow romantically involved. Kyle shook his head, and logically reminded Stan that Kenny had already been included in the tally, and if anything Cartman should count as four people because of his size. Kenny agreed and giggled in a manner that was for some reason rather frightening, while Stan mused that someday they should actually start writing it down, almost like a petition…

"Hey! Screw you guys. If it weren't for the fact that I need this credit, I'd be going home." Cartman said, and then went back to his homework.

It was at that moment that the Guidance and College Planning Counselor entered. Cartman hated her with every fiber of his large being, because she was the very incarnate of everything he hated. She was, after all, from Woodstock, New York, and her previous job had been in Telluride. She'd accepted taking on more hours with no extra pay to be the College Planning Counselor in addition to the Guidance Counselor whole heartedly because she of that kind of heart that was whole. She'd attempted to levitate Washington State at some point in her childhood. She tended to wear Birkenstocks and long, flowing, pastel coloured clothing. However, her ensuing dialogue made Cartman temporarily overlook all of that and want to worship her as some form of Unholy Sovereign.

"I'm to understand that there's a Jewish boy in this class?" She said softly.

Kyle raised his hand incredulously.

"Oh, wonderful! The school board has decided to participate in Camp Enterprise again. Every year, the Rotary Club of Colorado puts on the Camp Enterprise, where eleventh-grade students go and learn about the wonders of not only proactivity and success skills, but also enterprise and…"

"Wait," Kyle said, "This is a camp where students are taught business management and industry?"

"Well, yes."

"And the school board thought I would be a good choice because I'm…Jewish?"

"Yes, that's right."

Cartman started to laugh. In fact, he started to laugh hysterically. Kyle crawled under his desk and refused to come out. Ever. Completely oblivious to all of this, the counselor continued to preach.

"You don't actually need to be nominated, but you do need to fill out an application, and they only accept a certain number of students from each school. Also, it's considered an honor and looks wonderful on your College resume. Basically, you go and they give you inspirational lectures and have you participate in a Business Simulation program. And, if you win Camper of the Year, you get a full ride scholarship to any College in Colorado."

The counselor passed out fliers and brochures. Stan noticed the dates, and grinned excitedly.

"Hey! It's from the eighth to the eleventh! I'd get out of Prom! Yes!" Stan said, throwing an arm in the air.

As he was on the football team, Stan was required to attend Junior prom. Despite everything he had to endure, Stan was proud of his Jock status and love for football. It was another thing that Kyle marveled at. Although Stan had been the star in Elementary school, he hadn't actually played once since they entered High School. He'd been eternally condemned to the bench. Perhaps that was why they had never, ever won a game. Ever. But somehow, Stan was devoted to the sport and faithfully attended each grueling practice, each disappointing game, each uninspiring Pep rally, and every other school event that his status demanded of him. That did not mean, however, that he wasn't humanly begrudging of his unshakable commitment at times. For some reason, Stan was incredibly opposed to attending prom.

"Naw, the bus gets in early enough. You'd still have to go, no excuses." One of the girls on prom committee who was conveniently located in the Spanish Classroom voiced in annoyance. Then she resigned herself to being a one-shot character that probably wouldn't be called on for any function or purpose ever again. Prom committee is like that.

Stan glowered, but asked for a copy of the application form anyway. Then he asked for another copy, for when Kyle decided to emerge from beneath his desk.

"Sweet! It's free! Count me in!" Kenny said.

Stan stared at him in disbelief.

"Since when do you care about doing extracurricular activities?" Stan asked.

"Dude, exactly. I need everything I can _get_ on my resume. And if it's free? And provides free meals for three days? Yeah, I'm good." Kenny said.

Cartman was also somewhat enthused about it, despite the fact that he viewed it as a guaranteed "Jew Gathering". Or perhaps it was because it was going to be a "Jew Gathering" and he was plotting something again. Or perhaps because he did, after all, exhibit some very prominent talents useful in the business world.

Kyle accepted the application when Stan handed it to him, but still remained underneath his desk.

Because the Spanish teacher was conveniently passed out somewhere in a dark alley, the rest of the class period was devoted to the completion of the application once the counselor had left. Kyle eventually crawled out, and started looking over the questions.

Truth be told, the questions were easy, demanding rhetoric "I want to be successful in life" answers. Of course, Spanish class was normally his easiest class anyway, so it was fitting. It was the only class in his demanding schedule that he had with the other three boys, the rest of which were AP curriculum. His mother's idea and his father's goading.

Bébé, who had been the first to finish the essay on "What Interests you About Camp Enterprise", was reading it aloud to Red.

"…proactive. Finally, I am especially interested in the fact that it is free of charge. Thank you." She said.

Kenny momentarily broke his gaze from her breasts to inform her that it was a beautiful essay. Bébé stared at him as though she were just now registering his presence, and then thanked him.

"But really, I just read over the description in the pamphlet, and put it into my own words." She said, shrugging, which caused his attention to be diverted. Again. She noticed this and crossed her arms.

"Up here." She said flatly, but not without amusement.

Meanwhile, Stan feigned astonishment when Kyle started filling out the application.

"You're actually going to allow yourself to conform to a stereotype? Kyle, you're letting me down dude."

Kyle shrugged.

"It doesn't sound _that_ bad, I guess. And I'll get props on my resume. Besides, someone has to go and make sure that the fat ass doesn't turn it into another Holocaust." He said.

"Ha! You hear that, Stan? He's going because of me!" Cartman said viciously.

"Cartman, do you sit up at night thinking of different insinuations?" Stan asked him. Cartman smiled.

"As a matter of fact, I do." He informed Stan, proudly.

"That proves it. You are fantasizing about me, in that you fantasize about me fantasizing about you. It's a Freudian thing. Ha!" Kyle said, jumping up _on_ his desk now, brandishing his pencil in Cartman's face, and laughing triumphantly.

Kenny did that disturbing giggle again.

"Yeah, dude! He totally gets off on the thought of Kyle just by trying to think of ways to diss him. Then he jerks off. Ha ha ha ha!" He said.

"Hey! Shut up Kenny!" Cartman, who was officially owned for the week, yelled and shoved Kenny out of his chair.

"Aw,_awww_!" Stan cried, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to rid the unpleasant mental image. Unfortunately, it didn't work very well and he lunged for the garbage can just as his gag reflex kicked in.

"Ew! Sick!" The prom committee girl shrieked, just so that she could be mentioned again.

When Stan returned to his desk, he found that Kyle was cowering under his own, once again refusing to ever emerge, insisting that he meant it this time, and glowering at Kenny, who was still giggling demonically and now rolling around on the floor. Five seconds later, Cartman finally got sick of the noise and kicked him in the ribs. Autopsy report said that Kenny had choked on his own saliva, but it was forever regarded as the day that someone had actually died laughing.


	2. This

It so happened that Stan and Kyle were perhaps the only creatures, on or off the planet, who hadn't realized that Tweek and Craig were an item. Kenny, who had come back to prevent getting a zero on his Literature test in sixth period, informed them of this at lunch.

Apparently, once they had gotten over seeing each other as mortal enemies in the third grade, they had quickly become good friends, and things had just sort of gradually progressed from there, and the town just accepted that. Of course, it was sort of more assumed that they were a couple more than they had come out as a couple. Either way, Tweek's parents gave their blessing, and Craig's just didn't really care.

Of course, they Kyle and Stan had been too absorbed with each other at the time to notice much else.

The nine or ten people hadn't been entirely off. Stan and Kyle weren't in a position to inform them of this, perhaps because they liked it better that way, perhaps because it was more fun, but most likely because they just weren't sure what to do.

But, they loved each other.

But, they were straight.

But somehow their eyes lingered on each other, met, and for whatever reason it was that they had started looking at each other in the first place, it was too strong for either to break. Their eyes remained connected, because, as the transcendentalists might say, if you look very closely you cannot see where blue and green stop meeting, or where either colour fades or changes into the other. And they couldn't go without this happening at least once a day.

They weren't even aware of it until that day.

"What are we going to do about this, Stan?" Kyle whispered from across the table. They were doing it again, losing touch with the rest of the world, excluding themselves somewhere that no one else could enter or reach. Their own little corner of the universe only accessed through each other.

"I don't want to do anything. I want it to stay how it is. That's the only way that it will even stay _this_." Stan said.

Kyle shrugged.

"It can't. The world doesn't let that happen. That's how _this_ happened." Kyle said.

"Really? Because I always saw it as the only thing that's been constant for me." Stan sighed, and shook his head. He made a valiant attempt to explain, because somehow he thought an explanation was needed, but it turned into a series of broken um's, yeah's, like's, uh's, and a single, "Dude."

Kyle laughed.

"What's weird is that I completely understood all of that. Uncanny, your ability to articulate your feelings."

"Shut up," Stan laughed, but then moaned and massaged the bridge of his nose, "That's what I mean. That's part of this…this thing."

They stared at each other again.

Then the lunch bell rang, only intensifying their frustration, because it only confirmed that somehow they had reached a level that the rest of the school day was an eternity, keeping them from finding a place away from any kind of prying so that they could attack and kiss each other like they were wild dogs.

Had Cartman been there, he would have been screaming that they go find a room.

They realized that he would have been somehow right on and maybe that was what they needed to do. For once.


	3. I have a crowbar and need a cooties shot

Come the Eighth of May, they gathered at the edge of town to catch their bus. There were six kids from South Park, the other counties had about the same number, give or take. To be exact, from South Park came Stan, Kyle, Cartman, Kenny, Wendy, and Bébé. The only kids from their town who had actually filled out and turned in the applications. Go figure.

Once they got on the bus, which was quite miserable and squeaked at them, yes, at them, yes, intentionally, they got their team assignments. Only Cartman and Bébé were on the same team, the reds, which Cartman had a problem with because he wasn't a "dirty, freaking, hippie, pink-o commie" and insisted that the team name be changed to blood, but Bébé argued that blood eventually turned black or an ugly brownish, and got him to shut up for a minute. Kenny was on orange, Kyle green, Stan blue, and Wendy purple. Go figure.

Adding to their misery, their first task was to come up with a team cheer. This was fine for Stan's, Kyle's, Cartman, and Bébé's teams, for Wendy's it took some creativity and team work but was eventually successful, but poor Kenny was forced to spend the lengthy ride out to Telluride wondering _what_, exactly, rhymes with orange.

Then they were forced into a trust walk, where they were blindfolded and forced to hold hands and stumble around awkwardly dragging each other around rural Telluride. Kenny died about halfway through, and since they were all blindfolded, no one knew exactly how, but the hazardous weaving through electrical chicken wire was a popular theory.

Finally, they got to the actual camp site, which was ironically a hotel in the very center of the town. Without their luggage, it must be added, which was left on the bus about three miles back. They were told that it would arrive. Eventually.

With very little hope of ever again seeing their personal belongings, and for those from other counties having never heard of Kenny McCormick, very little hope of _surviving_, they stumbled into the lobby of the hotel.

And so, Stan found himself wondering why, exactly, he had decided to come, and from the look on Kyle's face, he was thinking the same thing.

"Stan, why exactly did we decide to come?" Kyle asked, for the sake of repetition and predictability.

Stan leaned over and whispered, "I have a crowbar in my duffle bag."

Kyle blinked.

"Stan, why do you have a crowbar in your duffle bag?"

"I figure, just in case, I'll kill Kenny on the bus home. So then there'll be a delay, and then we'll miss prom!" Stan laughed, almost maniacally, into Kyle's ear.

Kyle's sensitivity and moral standards were kicking in again.

"Dude! You are planning to _kill_ _so that you can avoid prom_!"

"Shh! Chill, dude, not so loud! I think it's a pretty flawless plan." Stan laughed again.

"Stan. You. Are. Insane." Kyle said, but once again, Stan was infectious.

"Hey, is it any different than you climbing on a bus with a knife and every intent of murdering the Fab Five so that you wouldn't be ostracized?" Stan asked.

"Yes, it is different! I was nine, and they were Crab People!" Kyle protested through his laughter.

"You _wish_ it was different." Stan said.

"Stan, you're an idiot."

"But you love me."

"Yeah, yeah. Why are you so intent on avoiding prom, anyway?"

"Because I love you."

And there it was said. Finally acknowledged. No turning back now. They couldn't see each others eyes, but it still felt the same, that inability to break the connection. They just stood there, pressed gently against each other, cheek to cheek. So close. They could smell each other, and it was tantalizing and infectious, and they wanted to just stand there and _smell_ each other for eternity.

Actually, it wasn't so much of a smell, as a feeling. They were guessing pheromones, the type of chemical that influenced animal behavior of others of the same species, often functioning as a sexual attractant. Or, in more juvenile terms "cooties."

"That doesn't make any sense." Kyle added after a minute, and they laughed again. Then Kyle noticed Cartman giving them that_ look_ again, and Stan noticed Wendy giving them an eerily similar _look_ and they mutually, and reluctantly, came to the decision that they had to part. And it sucked ass.

Then they had to find a way to situate themselves with the rest of their team at the team tables. Stan found the blue table next to the red, allowing him to search for Bébé's curls.

"Bébé," He called upon seeking her out, and approached her, extending his hand, "Can you give me a cootie shot, please?"

She looked at him for a minute, and then Kyle hurried by and they both shifted their eyes to ogle his ass. Bébé of course noticed this and giggled, suddenly getting it, although she had had the feeling for quite some time. And Wendy, being a closet slash fangirl, was closely monitoring every "progression" in the Stan and Kyle saga.

"C'mere," She said, and took his hand and began to chant, "Circle, circle, dot…"

"No…" Stan said last minute, and quickly pulled his hand away as if he had been electrocuted. Bébé's smile grew.

"I know," She said, patting his shoulder affectionately, "Those are the kind of cooties that it would be a mistake to get rid of. You're lucky to realize it."

Stan shrugged, and returned her smile with a weak one.

"Thanks, Bébé." And then he found his seat.

And then the first lecture started, but Stan found his mind wandering, and found himself pondering. Why, exactly, was it so hard? What, exactly, were they afraid of, or were trying to keep from happening, or make sure happened? Why were they wasting so much time, and yet seeing and salvaging and enjoying it to its fullest? What exactly was going on?

And why, exactly, did he feel as if he was actually supposed to be inspired by this lecture somehow, but it was really just not that important in the long run, in comparison?

Oh, the drama.


	4. Biz Sim Away

Biz Sim meeting, where each team was a company, trying to sell a random, imaginary product, competing with each other by putting a random, meaningless number down for how much they were planning to spend on marketing, bank loans, production, and inventory. The winning team received stock in some Laundromat chain, which, ironically, was sponsoring the dreaded prom.

There were a number of ways to go about it. They could put the majority of their funds into paying off their debts, or taking out more debt. They could put money into marketing, or production.

The green team had already decided on everything, but the cost of each of their product. Kyle, knowing his friends, had an idea of what they were doing in their respective Biz Sims.

Stan was probably trying to be involved and throwing out ideas, but most likely was rather befuddled and was secretly planning on going out to the local Telluride book store to buy a copy of _Small Franchising for Dummies_, as he jiggled his foot and chewed on the end of his pencil. The blue team would most likely start off with a medium price, not too high, not too low. No risks, until they had to. But when they did have to, they'd risk everything. Kyle wished he could have been on the blue team, if only to watch Stan fidget.

Kenny, if he was back from the dead, would probably be tilting back in his chair, humming one of Chef's old songs, until he lost his balance and cracked open his skull on the wall. It didn't really matter to him, so long as he could put in on his resume, so Kyle had no way of guessing what the orange team's strategy would be. Nevertheless, the orange team would like having him on their team. Everyone liked him. Perversions aside, there was something almost innocent about Kenny, who was off in his own little world most of the time, but still prominent in the physical world, where he was willing to be the martyr for the sake of God's twisted sense of humor.

Cartman, however, was an entirely different story from Stan or Kenny; he was going to take this seriously. Cartman was going to go for the Wal-Mart approach, no question about it. Put all the money into manufacturing a plethora of products, selling them cheaply, but no variety. Every bargain you could want, but individuality was sacrificed. The high cost of low price. Bébé, despite having pockets of wisdom beneath the thick mane of blonde frizz, was an idiot about these things, so she would let Cartman take over as team leader.

So, thinking logically and playing a guessing game, the green team was best off putting the majority of their funds into manufacturing and marketing, but having the most expensive product. Kyle and the team were in agreement that when given the choice, they would all be more likely to buy the more expensive product, although in the back of his mind Kyle could hear his cousin's nasally voice whining about getting ripped off…

_God damn it, I'm going to prove once and for all that I'm not a stereotype!_ Kyle thought, and recorded the numbers on the "official" leaflet document that was to be turned in to the counselors.

Biz Sim away.

"…----mmfft----…"

Bébé paused the music blaring on her iPod, and asked Kenny to repeat himself.

"I said, you do realize that Apple is turning us into a nation of disconnected zombies, and your only promoting it? And that being a zombie totally sucks ass?" He said, after loosening the drawstring of his parka hood just slightly.

She threw her head back and laughed loudly.

"Geek. I didn't think you'd know that much about current technology…considering your…um…situation." She said.

"Yeah, well, people always tend to study and obsess themselves with what's lacking in their lives. According to Kyle, it's a Freudian thing." He responded, leaning back against the surface of the hotel front, and taking out a pack of cigarettes.

After two more lectures, they'd been free to go for the night, until curfew. They were allowed to be released into the town as long as they stuck with their teammates. Kenny, who hadn't bothered to bring any money and was thus pretty much stuck in the center of Telluride with no funds and nothing to do and no reason to go out because of it, wasn't entirely surprised to find Bébé returning on her own.

"Oh, so that explains your preoccupation with sex?" She said.

Kenny fumbled with his lighter and dropped it to the sidewalk.

His response was particularly muffled, which suggested that it was particularly obscene because of the way things worked in their Universe, but she could tell that he was smiling beneath the hood. He bent down to pick up the lighter, but she stepped on it.

"You are much too young to be smoking." She informed him with a smile.

Kenny just shrugged, and went to retrieve the lighter again. This time she let him.

"Suit yourself, but it's gonna kill you." Bébé said. A plastic bag that looked to be filled with boxes of confectionary hung loosely about the elbow of her right arm, the hand of the same appendage carrying a glass bottle of orange soda pop.

"Yeah? Let's hope it happens before you go into some kind of diabetic coma." He said simply, and lit his cigarette.

She wrinkled her nose as the nicotine filled the air, but didn't comment, and joined him with her back resting lightly against the wall as she dug through the bag searching for whatever brand suited her fancy for the moment.

They were silent for a very long time. This was mostly because she was once again lost in thought and music, back to transforming into a zombie, but Kenny also attributed it to the fact that he really had no idea how, exactly to talk to Bébé. Or any attractive woman, for that matter. Oh, sure, once a conversation was struck up, he was fine, and found that they could communicate with one another quite well. But…it was starting the rapport that was awkward. This time, he hadn't actually meant for her to hear him, he was just musing to himself. Generally, he didn't really try to talk to women so much as try to get in their pants, which would result in getting bitch smacked, no, wait, more like _ho_ slapped, which was so much worse. Kyle and his personal Messiah, Freud, attributed it to repressed sexual frustration towards his mother, which was just incredibly sick and nasty. Truth be told, Kenny did have a very good, strong, relationship with his mother…when she was sober or mentally stable. If genetics had anything to do with it, there was a chance he'd wind up a drunken wife-beater, too. Life was a bitch, so maybe his utter inability to interact with females had a hand in his losing streak. Or God's sense of humor really _was_ that fucked up. Or both.

"Hey, you know what you remind me of?" Bébé suddenly spoke up again.

Kenny looked at her, and shrugged.

Bébé reached up and pulled his parka hood away from his face, and as he was opening is mouth to protest, she poured some of her soda down his throat. He chocked on the bubbling, synthetic citrus flavour of orange saccharine, and was almost horrified to think that somehow she was trying to off him because he had offended her by merely being in her presence. When he was finally able to swallow, and he surfaced with eyes teary from gagging, he was relieved to notice that she looked genuinely concerned and had a hand over her mouth to censor the train of profanities that had escaped.

"Um, perhaps it's better if you try. Don't worry; I doubt I'll catch your cooties." She joked, obviously trying to shoo the tension out of the air, as she handed him her soda.

He took a swig of his own free will. Then another. And then he finished off the bottle, because even though it was a fizzing orange liquid of death, there was this strange hint of a vanilla-y cream flavour that was just so pure and so addicting, and he was a little thirsty. But, he didn't really see it, the basis for comparison. He looked to Bébé for an explanation, muttering an apology for drinking all of her soda.

"Its ok," She said, smiling, and now having found a bag of peanut butter m&m's, "And I'm not really sure how to explain it, really. I guess we'll have to contemplate it."

And so, they started their contemplation, because they were at a Camp for Business Enterprise which neither were particularly interested in and just wanted the credit, so naturally they weren't in the position to have much more of a life at the moment. Kenny smiled, put out his cigarette, and dropped it in the empty bottle. They resigned themselves to silence again, both contemplating how, exactly, Kenny was like orange cream soda, during which Bébé was more than happy to share some peanut butter m&m's, for the noble cause of self-contemplation, because hungry minds never were very good for that.

When some purple members arrived, Wendy was among them and seemed to have an agenda that included her best friend's private audience, based on the bee-line she made toward Bébé. Kenny wondered how it was that someone as punctual as Wendy could have such remarkably hideous timing.

Bébé, on the other hand, was happy to see her friend, and curious about what was on her mind, and gave Kenny a single look before taking Wendy's hand and skipping off with her.

_Damn, they'd be hot as lesbians._ Kenny thought as he lit another cigarette. Then he decided it would be fun to harass the purple kids who were socializing about the front door of the hotel. He swallowed the cigarette, and when it came in contact with his irritated throat, it causing him to choke, asphyxiate, and eventually expire, sending the purple team into hysteria.

And so, Bébé was correct; smoking _had_ killed Kenny.

In the mean time, as the girls walked, Wendy was informing Bébé that she was going to make sure Stan and Kyle stopped beating around the bush and make out already so that she could get the twenty bucks that Cartman had promised her back in fourth grade, and because Wendy was a closet slash fan girl.

"They belong together, and they know it. They just need a little prodding, maybe. Plus, the bookstore here has the special edition copy of _1984_ that I've been wanting, and I'm a little short on cash." Wendy said.

Bébé, amazed that Wendy was still entirely serious about a six-year-old bet, reminded her friend about the simple joy that is Amazon.

"So, really, I think you should wait, Wendy," Bébé concluded her twenty-minute long lecture, "I mean, there's so much sexual tension already. It'll happen sooner or later. And a little push might make them fall over and then they'll have to get back up and go back to where they stated."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean that they can't brush each other off in-between. I'm not even really sure how to go about doing it either. That's why I need you. You're the flirty, buxom blonde chick who's always been the person I can go to about this stuff! You should be a master at these kinds of things." Wendy said.

"No I'm not! I'm staying out of the Stan and Kyle saga for this chapter. Besides, when I told Stan that he likes having cooties for Kyle, he didn't freak out, so at least their partially in acknowledgement." Bébé insisted.

"You didn't tell me about that! You've been holding out on me! Keeping all the good, slashy details to yourself!" Wendy cried, grabbing Bébé's shoulders. Bébé grabbed Wendy's shoulders in return.

"You're shaking me!" Cried the blonde, as she started to giggle.

"_You're_ shaking _me_!" Wendy corrected.

Then they did the only logical thing there was to do. They shrieked as loudly as they could, and dissolved into a fit of giggles.


	5. Butters the messiah

Kyle made sure that the door to the hotel room was locked, without really knowing why.

"Stan?" He called, shuffling into the room, where he found Stan sitting up on the bed near the window, eyes closed, headphones on full blast, his head bobbing along to the music.

Kyle couldn't hide the smile playing at his features as he set the bag containing his purchase from the bookstore on the other bed, and then went to join his…super best friend, and listen in.

He put his right ear to Stan's left, and the dark haired boy opened an eye to glance at Kyle. He noticed the smile, and adopted one of his own. They were partners in crime, joined not by music, but that elusive "_this_" that neither could fully explain. They let themselves, and everything in the "this" that they were frightened of, just get lost for the time being. Lost, pretending it was the music, but really it was each other. They both shut their eyes and leaned back. Kyle felt one of Stan's arms wrap around his shoulders, and his own arm around Stan's waist.

Happy song.

… _meant to be, immutable, impossible, it's destiny, pure lunacy, incalculable, inseparable…Who wouldn't be the one you love…_

They opened their eyes again, and looked at each other.

A pause.

And then…

Kyle tackled Stan, intending to knock him onto the bed. Unfortunately, because of his previous position, Stan fell backwards onto the floor, dragging Kyle with him. The result was that they found themselves changed from human beings into a mass of awkward limbs, but neither really cared, and they went for it anyway.

Neither was sure who was kissing who anymore, or whose hands belonged to whom, and somehow it didn't matter. The headphones had been knocked aside but the music still played on.

_Explosions!_

And then, because things couldn't get any more romantic comedy, someone just had to go and knock on the door.

"GO AWAY!" They bellowed.

"Dudes, if you're making out or sexing, that's totally hot and I'm cool with it. Can I come in and watch, or if you want, just tighten my hood? Because I don't really have a choice, seeing as Cartman's already asleep and apparently talking in his sleep. I'm not going away!" Kenny whined on the other side of the door.

They both sighed, and rolled their eyes. Next order of business? Deciding who should answer the door.

"You get it. I'm shirtless." Stan whispered.

"Dude! I'm _pantless_. I think you're owned." Kyle hissed back.

And so it was that Stan went to answer the door as Kyle searched for his pants.

Kenny thanked Stan enthusiastically, and made some other comments, that were once again conveniently muffled as he walked in the room just as a blushing Kyle was fastening his belt buckle.

"What's _this_?" Kenny asked.

"What?" Stan cried nervously at the same time that Kyle exclaimed in impeccable Hebrew that the whole thing could be a lot less messier if that could be clarified and they could all go home, and for the sake of Stan's sanity, not make it in time for prom. Needless to say, Kyle drowned Stan out.

Kenny backed away towards the door, fearfully.

"I meant the bag on the bed."

"Oh, right." Kyle said, having completely forgot about the book in the…excitement. From the bag, he produced a copy of, indeed, _Small Franchising for Dummies_. Angelic music could almost be heard in the background, and the book did that little, 'sheen!sparkle!sparkle!' thing.

"You guys have to be cool that I'm letting you look on, ok? I just want to beat the shit out of the red team." He said.

Kenny glowered.

"I'm more concerned about purple. Those dudes are totally weak, but not only do they have Wendy, but when I offed myself in front of them earlier, I swear I could hear some Hebrew expletives from them. No offense, Kyle. And the ones who didn't exclaimed things like…the FOIL method and other mathematical terms. I mean, shit, man, who does that?" He said.

Kyle frowned. He hadn't taken that into consideration.

"Ok, men. We have our mission. Take down the red and purple teams, and then its every man for themselves." He proposed. Stan voiced his approval. This caused Kenny to glance at Stan again, and from the glazed look in his eyes, he got distracted.

Kyle smacked himself lightly on the forehead.

"Stan, go find your shirt. Before Kenny drowns in his own drool again. Weak."

Butters clung to the railing of the balcony for dear life, humming his little apple song to try and calm his quaking nerves.

"L-loo loo l-l-oo, I got some ap-apples…" It wasn't working very well. It didn't usually. It was more a force of habit.

He was absolutely petrified. First of all, if he got caught by the counselors and Rotary club, seeing as how he'd forgotten to turn in his application, he'd get sent home for sure. Second, if his parents found out that he'd lied about turning in his application and Cartman had actually smuggled him in…well, he'd be in a world of trouble and definitely get a stern talking to. Fourth, he was clinging to the outside of a balcony railing to the second floor of a hotel. Fifth, he could hear music from the Blue Grass Festival, faintly in the distance, and Blue Grass music is really, really creepy in itself.

After what seemed like an eternity, Cartman finally opened the sliding glass door, and stared at Butters incredulously.

"What took you so long?" He barked at him.

"Eric! I-I-I've been waiting out here for, ah, an hour! Let me in, please! Ah…well, m-maybe if you could help me get over the rail…?" Butters tried to keep his voice low, but the fact that he was just about ready to burst out in tears made it difficult.

"Butters, why did I bring you out here?" Cartman asked, leaning against the doorframe casually.

"Ah, I dunno. Ohhh, son of a biscuit, can you please help me?"

Butters watched horrified as Cartman scoffed, turned, and started to close the door.

"No! Eric, you c-can't! I-I don't know what you want me to do, y-y-you just said somethin' about trackin' Stan and Kyle and…"

"_Thank_ you, Butters, you may be more useful after all," Cartman pushed the door back open so quickly it hit the other side of the frame with a large bang, and Butters almost lost his grip on the railing.

"What I want you to do," Cartman continued as he approached the rail, "Is to make sure that Stan and Kyle don't get anymore faggy with each other. I have twenty bucks riding on this, and the future of my Empire at steak, because if Wendy wins this round then it will only enable her to create a whole empire catering to slash fangirls…they'll band together! Over throw me! Just do whatever you can to make sure that they don't make out…at least until prom is over. Then they can do whatever they want."

"B-but Eric, when I was climbing up here, I saw Kyle tackle Stan and it looked like they were…um…getting pretty close. I didn't watch though, so maybe they were just wrestlin', or rough-housin' or…" Butters said. He hadn't really thought more of it…

"WHAT! Screw you, Butters! You're useless after all. Just…not a word of this…to anyone, and especially _not_ Wendy, and do everything you can to keep them from fagging out. I have to worry about winning the Business Simulation, and obliterate the other teams, so if you excuse me, I have a copy of _Small Franchising for Dummies _and a bag of Cheesey Poofs to get back to." Cartman said, and turned and shut the sliding glass door.

"Ah, but…but Eric! Aren't ya gonna let me in?"

Butters managed to find his way into the room where the breakfast buffet was being held the next morning. Also, almost too conveniently, he was able to spot Kyle and Stan, thanks to Kyle's distinctive green ushanka. They were sitting together, talking animatedly, Kyle's arm draped casually around Stan's shoulders. It didn't look…really funny, or queer to Butters, just comfortable, almost natural. The puzzled him-just what was it that Cartman considered "fagging out". Butters had always seen Kyle and Stan as pictures of masculinity. They played sports, beat up and ripped on other people and each other, and had all kinds of strange and wacky-hijink-misadventures. How was that, in any way, "faggy"? And even if they were…was it really that bad?

Kenny didn't seem to care, in fact, he seemed kind of happy about it.

But, Butters didn't want Cartman to blow the whistle on him, so off he went.

"Ahh, heya fella's." He approached Stan, Kyle, and Kenny from behind. They jumped up, and glanced at him in surprise. Kyle kept his arm around Stan's shoulders.

"Butters? What are you doing here?" Stan asked him

Butters wrung his hands, his other habit. Now what?

"I-I-I dunno." He replied sheepishly. He hadn't thought of a viable story to account for his appearance yet. Maybe that was detrimental? Really, would just want to go home, if it didn't mean he'd be in _so much trouble_.

They stared at him incredulously for a very long time.

Kyle tried a different approach.

"How did you get here, Butters?" He asked.

"Ah, I dunno that, either." Butters said with a shrug. It was pretty close to the truth. He remembered Cartman breaking into his room, smacking him upside the head with something heavy and blunt, and then darkness for a while…until Cartman unzipped the duffle bag he'd been stuffed in, and instructed him to meet him at his room at five pm…best to come in by the balcony.

"Dude! Butters is the Messiah!" Kenny said excitedly.

Stan, Kyle, and Butters stared at him.

"I mean, think about it. Stan, didn't that one guy not show? So, the blue team is short. What if we put Butters in his place? Then he can be utilized to topple the red and purple teams for sure!" Kenny said.

"Yeah, the problem with that is that Butters wasn't here to learn the rules or anything. And he's kind of a wuss. The blue team needs more assertive, cut-throat leaders." Kyle argued. They seemed to have adopted the ability to talk about someone as if he weren't in the room.

"It's better than nothing. I spent the last Biz Sim meeting not getting it at all, jiggling my foot, chewing my pencil, and throwing out my ideas only to forget what I was talking about in mid-sentence. The others weren't much better off, so we just wound up choosing nice, even, average numbers. To be safe." Stan voiced, with a shrug.

"Well, I'd be, uh, more than willin' to do, uh, whatever it is if ya want me to, fellas." Butters spoke up again, hoping that maybe he'd be able to mingle with them and do…whatever it was that Cartman wanted him to.

And then they were called off to a glorious lecture, and Stan, Kyle, and Kenny were moaning, and picking up their breakfast trays to put off to the side for the maintenance team to take care of. Just before they entered the empty room used for the lecture hall, Kyle cornered Butters, and slipped the copy of _Small Franchising for Dummies _into Butters' hands.

"Peruse this during the lecture. It's much more useful than what their saying, trust me." He whispered.

Although, when the lecture started, Butters found he couldn't disagree more. The lecture was so, so inspiring! It moved him! He had to be proactive in life! He needed to achieve self-actualization! He could climb the corporate ladder, no, _transcend_ it. When the lecture ended, he was on his feet, clapping and cheering for the speaker with unabashed enthusiasm. He left the lecture room for the hallway where the blue team met for Biz Sim feeling so very motivated.

Until someone else cornered him.

"Butters! I'm so glad to see you!" Wendy sang.

"R-really? Gee, that's real nice…" Butters began, but Wendy cut him off with her ulterior motive.

"I need you to do something for me." She said.

Butters, who had only been "needed" a few times in his life, never which had been by a girl, was ecstatic. The lecture-guy was right! He just needed to assert himself.

"Ah, sure. W-what for?" He asked, trying to sound casual, even with his wavering voice.

"I need you to monitor Kyle and Stan. Any little behavior that exudes sexual tension? Every time they so much as gaze towards each other longingly? Find some way to promote it. And then come tell me about it." She said.

All of Butters' newfound assertion completely left him in that moment, manifested as he dissolved into tears.

"B-but Wendy! I'm already helping Eric do the opposite! I mean, he nearly killed me when I told him how I saw 'em wrestlin' and kissin' and stuff and…oh, hamburgers." He said.

Wendy stared at him, jaw agape, pretending to be shocked, although the last tidbit of information had been a shock, indeed. Wendy already knew that Cartman had gotten to Butters first when she saw him sneaking around the back of the hotel the night before. Wendy felt bad, manipulating Butters, but that's why both she and Cartman had needed him for this. His innocence was both his greatest asset, and his downfall. He was simply incorruptible, and that's what made him an excellent, unwitting minion. Really, though, Wendy never saw Butters as pathetic, because every time someone called for his assistance, however bumbling he was, he always did the task that was asked of him, always pulled it off, although the results were never in his favor.

"Butters, I can't believe you! I can't believe you would both stoop so low-! I'm gonna kill him. No, better yet, we'll show him, you and me, we're gonna build this empire, and Stan and Kyle in PDA will be the first brick to be laid." She said, trying her best to sound angry, and decisive.

Butters was still whimpering when she let him go to join the blue team for Biz Sim.

Authors Note:

As mentioned in the first chapter, I quoted the song "Stand Inside Your Love" by The Smashing Pumpkins, which I do not own. I wanted to use "Daphne Descends" so bad... I do have a soundtrack for the story, 'cause I suck like that. If you want the track listings, just ask. I have a weird taste, thought

I'm only putting this just in case, although I'm sure it isn't necessary. An Ushanka is pretty much a Russian hat with ear flaps, so, basically what Kyle is. I'm sure there are a lot of green ones, but because Kyle and his trademark hat are totally magic!awesome!spiffy, I consider his hat distinctive. I did it all for the lolz, yeah.


	6. The movie of the century

Stan sighed happily as he and Kyle reviewed their notes from the first trial report in their room during their free period. Technically, this was cheating, but they weren't giving each other the exact numbers from their group. Even with Kyle in exclusively AP classes aside from Spanish, working together to topple Cartman, some wack-job celebrity, homework projects, a mystic, an ethereal race, Visitors, or Crab People was still pretty much a daily event. Still, Stan could take the opportunity to revel in the intimacy of the whole thing, the way they spoke in hushed tones, and every once in a while afforded the other with a light touch, or when they found something to joke about, a playful shove.

Then they decided to take a quick break to run screaming down the street, for absolutely no reason better than the fact that they were at a camp for business enterprise, so they really weren't in a position to argue that they had much more of a life.

When they were finally out of breath, but somehow laughing through their pants for air, they had to cling to each other to remain upright, but because neither had a good balance, they wound up toppling over, into the street.

"If a car comes, right now, it will run us over, split our bodies into bloody masses of organs, bone, and flesh, killing us instantly. But hey, I think it's a rather appropriate way to go, as long as it ends with us here, together, clinging to each other." Kyle mused.

"That's disgusting, but then again, love can be pretty sick, too. Still, it would make an awesome romantic horror film." Stan said.

"Romantic horror film." Kyle repeated incredulously.

"Gory, but with enough cheesy, sugary romance to make your teeth rot. Based on a true story, too. That'll pull the crowds in." Stan said.

"I guess I'd pay to see it." Kyle mused again.

"My God! A Jew willing to pay eighteen dollars! And then, by the time the movie will be filmed, edited, and produced, inflation will just make the price high. Oh, no! Oy gavault!" Stan cried melodramatically.

"That it, then. No popcorn or drinks for us. Although, you do realize that for it to even happen, we'd be dead so this is a useless argument." Kyle reminded him.

"It would still make an awesome movie."

"It would, Stan, it would."

"We'd have to hire Terrance and Phillip to play us."

"I heard that their getting married sometime soon."

"Whoa! Dude, no way! The whole world is turning gay!"

Although, Kyle didn't really see it that he was turning gay, more that he was just a Stanophile. Because, really, he couldn't picture himself running around screaming through the streets of Telluride, and then lovingly embracing in the middle of the street preparing to be killed while discussing the plans for the major motion film about it, with anyone else, male or female. The same went for doing any other of one of the crazy ass things they pulled off together. Just Stan. Stan, who at that same moment was pondering the same thing, only for Kyle, although it looked more like a very detailed crayola drawing, with an airplane, and a sun wearing a cheesy grin and a smiley face, and then they were stick figures holding hands and smiling.

"Hey, dudes? How am I like an orange cream soda?" Kenny randomly appeared, with a nearly empty bottle of the aforementioned object held in his hand, as if it were a completely normal thing to ask, and as if it were completely normal to ask two guys, lovingly embracing in the middle of the street preparing to be killed while discussing the plans for a major motion film about it, and were contemplating creating two new sexual orientations.

"Huh?" Stan asked intelligently.

"Say what?" Asked Kyle.

"I just don't get it, I mean…" Kenny was about to continue, but right at that moment a bright red Volkswagon Beetle plowed into him, turning him into a bloody mass of organs, bone, and flesh, completely missing Stan and Kyle.

"Figures it was a German car." Kyle scoffed.

"Punch buggy red." Stan said, and slapped Kyle's ass.

"The game goes _punch_, not slap ass."

"Anyway. Oh my God! The Germans indirectly killed Kenny!"

"Those bastards!"

Authors note:

Whoohoo! Two chapters to go! For some reason, this one is my favorite so far.

Before I rush off to go finish chapter seven, I will leave you with some questions to ponder;

Will Kenny ever discover why he is like orange cream soda, or what rhymes with orange? What are the other team cheers, anyway? Will Wendy be able to situate her evil empire, or will Cartman wind up the victor of the $20, speaking of which, what does that bet entail? Will Stan and Kyle ever get to make out again, and will the next time get more detail? Will the Visitors or Crab People ever show up? Who will win Camper of the Year? Which team will win Biz Sim? Will Kyle ever get over his irrational fear of conforming to stereotyping? Will Stan kill Kenny to avoid prom? Will there even be a prom? And are Terrance and Phillip really going to get married?

All this and more to be answered in the upcoming chapters…and no one cares! XD


	7. The worst one yet

The last day. The fated day where everything that needed to be announced was, indeed, announced.

You'd think that the counselors would be kind and just send them off with everything they needed to know, but this was the corporate world, remember, so of course that wasn't the case.

First, each team had to present their team cheer. This was as embarrassing and awkward as each horribly strung-together quip and phrase. Except for the purple team. Their cheer was very poetic and well crafted.

It was the orange team's, however, that was the most memorable.

"_What rhymes with orange? We don't know either, so we don't have a cheer!" _

Three more lectures dragged on and on. Butters continued to listen intently, trying as hard as he could to avoid _looks_ from Cartman and Wendy, but generally enjoying it. Stan had actually been impressed. Butters had had some pretty good ideas, such as, that upping the amount of money put into production, and using their profit to pay off the last of their debt, because the entire reason that they had profit was to use it, otherwise it just sat there, and the judges would most likely be comparing revenue instead.

Kyle was biting his nails methodically, and wondered what had happened to the copy of _Small Franchising for Dummies_.

It was almost noon when the last speaker suddenly inflated like a balloon, and floated off through the open window. Somebody, probably Kenny, made a lame joke about hot air.

The counselors found that when they tried to impart closing words of wisdom, that anyone who tried would suddenly find their head swelling to enormous size until it exploded, or they were reduced to gibberish.

So, they just decided to announce everything.

Twenty minutes later, while everyone else was still applauding, Kyle had somehow managed to fit himself underneath his chair, refusing to emerge, as Stan tried to coax him out. Time paradox.

Cartman continued to laugh in some kind of hysterical victory.

"I can't believe he used my desire to reject that stupid stereotype against me. I should have known. I knew he was going to pull the Wal-Mart ideals, but who would have figured it would be because he considered his Target audience being…Jews looking for a bargain." Kyle was groaning.

"Yeah, well…Kenny getting picked as Camper of the Year? He didn't do anything the whole time." Stan replied with a shrug.

"Yeah, but he died at least five times in three days. Of course they were going to give it to him; otherwise his family could sue them." Kyle replied bitterly, but moved his head slightly out from under the chair to watch as Kenny, Cartman, and the rest of the red team did individual celebratory dances on either side of the room. All that was missing was the confetti.

Butters approached them, wringing his hands and looking more significantly more befuddled and perplexed than usual. Which was saying something.

"Ah, w-what company did they say was givin' stock to the red team?" He asked quickly, before either Stan or Kyle had a chance to ask what was up.

"Generic Laundromat. The same company that's sponsoring the prom." Stan said with a groan, remembering that he had precisely eight hours to either cause a delay, or assassinate the prom committee. Because both were entirely rational solutions.

Butters dropped his hands.

"That's what I thought! Th-they went under! Turns out the prom c-committee got an extension on their funding, and the extension was too much. They tried to l-lay off some people, but, ah, the people who got r-re-redundant went and started burning every Generic Laundromat in sight. There's no more stock to give!"

One of the counselors that was still functional happened to walk by just as Butters was revealing this tidbit of information, and screamed very loudly.

"This, you planned all this, didn't you? Well, we have had enough of your oppression! Go back to where you came from, Visitors!" The counselor screamed, with an angry gesture to the back of the room. Everyone's head turned to glance at the back wall so fast, four kids died of whiplash. As the counselor had said, the Visitors were there, just kind of hanging around, not necessarily doing anything.

"…Have they been here all along?" Stan asked Wendy, who nodded.

"You didn't notice? I didn't think they were really doing anything…" She said, but before she could further contemplate the situation, the counselors had transformed into Crab People, and started closing in on the Visitors. In typical villainous fashion, they began revealing their newest plan for world domination, something that included gaining public appeal and approval by posing as the Rotary Club, Colorado, the rest of which made absolutely no sense, but it seemed to entail the local radio station tower, a tropical fruit punch drink, and Dr. Phil, all of which combined would eliminate the Visitors, because for some reason the Visitors, who had never really done anything other than mutilate cattle, kidnap Ike, give Cartman an anal probe, and just randomly pop up in places, were the main obstacle in the way of the Crab People.

All the while, that bizarre, low chanting could be heard.

_Crab…people…crab…people…craaaab people…taste like crab…talk like…people…_

Needless to say, mass chaos ensued, Alien versus…Crab People. With their claws, the Crab People could pinch or even maim the Visitors easily, but it seemed the Visitors had a defense of their own. Because the Crab People were so short, the Visitors merely had to bitch smack the Crab People, using their long, skinny limbs. Truly bizarre claw-to-limb combat.

Although the battle was taking place on the opposite side of the room than the students, the more dominant personae in every possible relationship had stepped in front of their companion protectively; Cartman in front of Wendy, who had maneuvered herself in front of Bébé, who in turn had tackled Kenny, which wound up doing more harm to him because he cracked his head on the hard wood floor.

Kyle and Stan, however, had gotten into a full-out pushing-shoving argument over who should shield who from possible destruction.

"I'm the jock!"

"Yeah, but I beat the crap out of Cartman more often!"

"But you have a bitchier attitude!"

"Exactly! I'm more likely to snap and become a volatile Crab People ass-kicking maniac!"

"Oh, so we're supporting the Visitors now? Given how they almost ruined your life when they hijacked your little brother, I'd have thought we'd be rooting for the Crab People. Not that I'm complaining. That chanting in the background is getting really annoying."

"All the Visitors do now is torment cows. Population control. Crab People almost had me ostracized. And I concur about the chanting."

"Ok, ok. We need to keep cool here. What would Brian Boitano do?" Stan decided once he was finally sick of pushing Kyle about.

"Your right. What _would_ Brian Boitano do?" Kyle asked, pondering the situation before him.

As if on cue, Brian Boitano burst in through the window that the balloon-counselor had floated off through. He landed with an inhuman grace, and skated through to the middle of the room, despite the floor being made of hard wood. When he smiled, his teeth did the sheen!Sparkle!Sparkle! thing. Brain Boitano was just _that_ hard core.

"Did somebody say my name?" He asked.

"Hell yeah! Brian Boitano, say the counselors of Camp Enterprise turn out to be Crab People who have a vendetta against the Visitors and they get into a full out battle randomly…and really, you just want to get home, what would you do?" Wendy asked

Brian Boitano sat down in a chair that just sort of magically appeared and started to ponder this. He watched as the Visitors continued smacking the Crab People, and as the Crab People continued to pinch the Visitors.

"Kids?" He said after a long time.

"W-what?" Butters asked in awe.

"Get the hell out of here. It's up to me to restore the balance, because that is the natural order of things." He said, and turned on his skate, and charged head long into battle.

"…Ok. Uh, to the busses, I guess." Kyle said, and so they simply walked out of the door, to the busses.

Wendy cornered Cartman just before he could get on the bus.

She began by ranting at him about how horrible it was to use Butters against her. Then she went on to say that she knew about Stan and Kyle "wrestlin'" in the hotel room two nights ago. For affect, Wendy said that they were just three and a half hours away from Prom, and he had better be prepared to pay up, because she was planning on ordering that copy of _1984_ from Amazon the minute she got home because she had missed her chance while in town. Just as Cartman didn't think he could possibly deal with any more, she concluded her lecture to remind him that he was picking her up at seven, and he had better have reservations at a good restaurant with all the crap she had had to put up with.

"Yes, ho…_ney_." He said begrudgingly, and watched her climb onto the bus. This was, perhaps the worst day of his life. He had lost the stock that he had worked his ass off to earn, and he hadn't even done anything _that_ terrible to deserve it. Then he got ranted at by his girlfriend, who, at times like these could be a queen bitch, and it was looking more and more like he was out twenty bucks.

Couldn't get worse.

Famous last words.

When he got on the bus, sitting in the front row, he happened to see Kenny and Butters sitting as far apart as they could so that Kenny could have incentive to have Bébé sit on his lap, as they discussed the likelihood of Kenny still having his full ride scholarship, given recent circumstances. He and Bébé were examining the check, just in case.

"_You_…" Cartman was about to advance on Butters and reprimand him for his uselessness, when Kenny asked him for his half of the BFF medallion back.

Cartman stared at Kenny, and inquired why the hell he wanted it back. That thing had been very useful to Cartman at least once…

"Because I want to give it to Bébé. She's a better BFF." Kenny said. Bébé, who didn't seem at all phased about this, just laughed.

"Give me one reason why she would make a better BFF than me!" Cartman insisted.

"I can give you two. She has boobs." Kenny said. Cartman glowered, and then told them both very crudely and colourfully how much he hated them.

Meanwhile, just as everyone else was wondering how they were going to get home, since none of them knew how to drive a bus, Brian Boitano made another dramatic entrance, having successfully mediated the Visitor/Crab People conflict.

"Where to, kids?" He asked, his teeth doing the hard core sheen!sparkle!sparkle!thing.

"South Park! And step on it! We have a prom to get to!" The prom committee girl suddenly jumped up from the back of the bus and yelled.

"Right-o!" Said Brian Boitano, as Stan dissolved into tears. Stan was about to ask the prom committee girl if she had, in fact, been spawned from the depths of hell, perhaps being Damien's sister and all, but before he could, she was gone.

Stan then was able to magically locate his duffle bag. He unzipped it, and fingered the crow bar inside, balancing it in his hand. Kyle stared dumbfounded, as he slowly maneuvered his way up towards the front seat, stepping carefully as Brian Boitano began to gracefully drive the bus back to South Park.

He pulled back, and was about to swing…

…When Brian Boitano, still driving the bus with more grace and ease than was perhaps humanly possible, roundhouse kicked the crowbar out of Stan's hand, and cheerfully reminded him that the most recommended way to stay safe on a moving bus was to STAY SEATED at all times.

Stan, unable to ever object to Brian Boitano, turned and went back to his seat, glanced at Kyle. They smiled at each other awkwardly, and shrugged.

A/N.

One more chapter left. Thank you to those who have reviewed and/or favourited! Expect reviews filled with hugs and kisses soon XD


	8. I bet your prom wasn't this hot

Having been at prom for a whopping thirty minutes, Stan decided to walk Kyle home.

This was interesting, because Stan's house was closer to the high school gymnasium where the prom had been located than Kyle's was.

So it wound up that Stan walked Kyle home retroactively.

It was a shame, too, because the thirty minutes would have gone quite well…if they hadn't happened. Oxymoron.

Kyle and Stan had agreed to meet up halfway to the school, and go together, in a very normal and natural and Super Best Friends kind of way. Because they weren't quite sure if it was ok to hold hands in public in South Park (because, after all, lying in each others arms in the middle of the street in Telluride is apparently completely different), they had walked linked by their pinkies, which actually looked much gayer, but nobody bothered to tell them.

That is, until Kenny, who very inconveniently had decided that wearing a dress shirt underneath his parka with his hood down so that his voice could be clearly heard was dressing up, announced this fact.

Very loudly.

Once he had, eight other sets of eyes immediately sought them out. To be exact, these were the eyes of Cartman and Wendy (which were particularly intense, for some reason), Bébé, Butters, a Visitor and the Crab Person it happened to be escorting to prom (go figure), the prom committee girl, and, perhaps the most uncomfortable of all, Jesus, who for some reason or another had decided to chaperone.

Whats more, Kenny hadn't even bothered to get a ticket, just walked right into the gymnasium and no one said anything. And still, he had two dates.

Needless to say, his afformentioned two dates, who happened to be Bébé and Butters, were the only people willing to talk to Kenny for the rest of the night.

Kyle, glowering profusely, went inside to get some punch, where he happened to notice Craig and Tweek glowering at one another from either sides of the gymnasium. Apparently they had decided that their relationship was just too out of character, and they had gone back to being mortal enemies. For the time being.

Stan had laughed uncomfortably to the eight pairs of eyes, and then went to join Kyle at the punch bowl. Wendy and Cartman followed.

This made Stan slightl uncomfortable, so he laughed awkwardly for a moment, and then sidesteped through the shutting gymnasium door to try and avoid them, but miraculously they were able to sidestep through the door too.

Cue the highly appropriate "Super Mario Bros." themesong.

What ensued was Stan doing limbo moves, carthweels, and an impressive jitterbug to try and keep Wendy and Cartman from following him, but nevertheless, he always found them breathing down his neck.

Stan yelled and then ran around the gymnasium with Cartman and Wendy at his heels. His running pattern became a u-shape around the gym, to the door, where he exited, and then reentered gasping for breath, and quickly pressed his back against the door to keep it shut with Cartman and Wendy just outside, pounding on the door and yelling profanities and that he should Respect Their Authoritah.

"Ooh! A lock in!" Bébé said enthusiastically to her two dates. Butters, who was jammed up between Kenny and Bébé, tried to squirm away, but unfortunately they were trying to get closer to each other and had him trapped between Kenny's parka, and Bébé's breasts. Butters was having a hard time deciding which was more uncomfortable.

"You know, I think I figured out why you're like an orange cream soda." Bébé said to Kenny in the context of the conversation they were successfully having.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I like orange cream soda, and I like you." She said and grinned at him. He grinned back. They looked kind of maniacle, like super villains or something. Then, to Butter's relief, they grabbed hands and ran off to the darkest corner they could find, and dissapeared for a while. It was pretty much assumed that they didn't want to be found.

When Cartman and Wendy decided to try and go through the back door, this gave Stan some time to leave the door, find Kyle, and get the hell out of there.

Unfortunately, the thirty minutes wasn't quite up yet, so much sillier antics, including a drunken Kyle, were still to come.

Stan found Kyle laughing drunkenly, and hiting on Jesus, with a cup of punch in his hand.

Smacking himself in the forhead, Stan demanded to know just who it was that had spiked the punch.

Craig, whose side of the gym Stan happened to be on, gave him an incredulous look.

"No one spiked it. I've been watching it all night." He said.

Thus, Kyle had achieved a new standard, by apparently managing to get drunk off of non-alcoholic punch.

"Come on, princess, we're going home." Stan said, grabbed Kyle's hand, and went to exit the prom, shooting an apologetic look to Jesus, who actually just looked very amused.

Thirty years later, Stan would still insist that he had left prom with his dignity intact. Even with a sinewy Jewish boy, apparently drunk off of non-alcoholic punch, slung over his right shoulder, giggling hysterically.

Unfortunately, they were cornered by Cartman and Wendy.

"Oh, God damn it, I can't believe you two remembered that stupid bet." Stan said.

Kyle sighed.

"God damn it, not only do they remember that stupid bet, but my flawless plan to get out of here by passing for being drunk off of non-alcoholic punch was, apparently, flawed." He said agitatedly.

Stan glowered, but then got confused because he wasn't sure if he should be glowering at Kyle's ass, which was quite silly, but somehow appropriate, or at Cartman and Wendy, who were watching them expectantly, with their arms crossed.

"Put me down, Stan." Kyle said.

"No." Stan said, and kept walking. Cartman and Wendy kept in stride.

"Stan, put me down unless you intend to keep talking to my ass for the rest of the night."

Stan fidgeted. He knew that he'd have to put Kyle down eventually, but he could wait until last minute. He could wait just until last second, maybe. He could wait.

Once he put him down, and he and Kyle went their separate ways, it would suddenly hit them that they were back in South Park, back home where it was harder to get randomly tackled or lie down in the street and plan romantic horror movies and little crayola drawings of two stick figure guys holding hands beneath a smiling sun…

Had it all been pent up Sexual Tension, which would fade away once the experience became a memory? Would "wrestlin'" become a foot note in their friendship, or even their friendship become a footnote in their lives? Would prom take it all away?

Damn, he really hated it when those kinds of questions were posed; questions that made it seem like his life were a sitcom with a cheesy voice-over announcer.

Either way, Stan had a very lucid moment of an epiphany, that Wendy and Cartman and their bet represented some of the ways this could all go. But really, it was a moment. Everything happened in a moment, in a space of time where your whole life can suddenly change, because each second you learn and process something new. For the worse or better, who knows, but it would never be the same. And no matter how much Stan could try to prevent it, things did change. They grew and evolved, but yet they always were, always had at least been there.

So, Stan stopped, put Kyle down, and then grabbed him and kissed him, because he could. And because _he_ could, Kyle kissed him back.

And so it was that Wendy won her twenty dollars, but gave her boyfriend, who was almost weeping because he hadn't just _lost_, he had lost _twenty dollars_, a comforting pat on the back, and promised that this was only one phase in rise, and imminent battle for dominance, of their two empires. Back in fourth grade, after a particularly wacky misadventure involving a possessed math text book, she had bet him twenty dollars that Stan and Kyle were such total boyfriends that they'd be found making out either on, or before prom night. Cartman had bet her that they'd be too confused and wrought with sexual tension that they'd spend years beating around the fence, yes, fence, because it was more appropriate, than finally get the balls to jump over. Then they called each other some very insulting and colourful names. Then they went and split a pizza and a chocolate milkshake. Two straws. Stan and Kyle had of course known about this, thus accounting for Stan's irrational anxiety about prom night; he was worried that he may forget to bring some altoids, too.

Stan and Kyle, meanwhile, continued to make-out, and apparently it was so hot that anyone who watched for any longer than five minutes would immediately incinerate.

A very happy and well-loved Kenny, who had apparently been among the incinerated kids, informed them on Monday at school that it was even hotter than the Mackey/Choksondik porno he and Bébé had unearthed somewhere in the broom closet on prom night in between rounds. But that is a tale on its own that everyone but Kenny and Bébé declared as too much information, so it was never discussed ever again.

When prom was finally over, and kids started emerging in preparation to head home, and the death toll induced by Stan and Kyle's totally hot make-out session reached about twenty, they realized that they had only actually been at prom for thirty minutes, and had spent the rest of the time outside, attacking and kissing each other like wild dogs, in full public view, although they weren't really in danger of anyone else finding out because all twenty witnesses had been burned beyond recognition, and they were quite happy this way.

Stan decided to walk Kyle home.

This was interesting, because Stan's house was closer to the high school gymnasium where the prom had been located than Kyle's was.

So it wound up that Stan walked Kyle home retroactively.

Déjà-vu, the sensation that you've done something more than once.

Déjà-vu, the sensation that you've done something more than once.

Déjà-vu, the sensation that you've done something more than once.

Déjà-vu, the sensation that you've done something more than…right, ok, it stopped being funny the second time.

The two Super Best Friends stood out on Stan's front lawn, holding hands, and grinning, because really they were partners in crime…in addition to everything else.

They talked for a while, about everything and nothing in particular, but mostly they were biding their time until they had to disconnect and part ways for the evening, although even when they did they wouldn't have even one finger in reality, because all of their digits were still connected to the others.

The next day, they decided to go play violent video games where people shoot each other in the face with guns, and then go cow tipping as their first "official" date, because that's the kind of couple they were.

And because we never really stop living for these kinds of things, it wasn't the end, just kind of a bizarre beginning that wasn't even really a beginning, just a change.

The Beginning.

A Last Long Ass Authors note:

Well, hey! Last Chapter! That was some fun!

Yeah, chapter seven? Not my best work. In fact, it was kind of stupid. But, for some reason, I felt it was necessary. Because I'm kind of an idiot. Yay me!

Anyway, thank you to those of you who have reviewed and favourited! I owe you each a hug, because I honestly didn't expect anyone to like this, and, well, hey! People did! Most of which are completely awesome writers themselves! Thank you! When I first started writing this, I in no way expected it to receive the praise and encouragement that it has. I am especially flattered by those of you who said that my writing was in-character and appropriate for South Park, because I wound up doing a lot of research (WikiPedia 3) about things that I didn't know about. I feel kind of ashamed to admit it, but I've only been a South Park fan since this past February, when I got to see the movie, and realized, "Hey! This is pretty much my sense of humour right here…I mean, they make fun of everything equally! Yays!" and then it became my weirdest pipe-dream to go and become a writer for South Park, which won't happen, but dreams are nice, so I wrote this instead.

I also had pretty much no pre-planning going into this. None. The entire thing was written on whims, which made me go research and watch and just have a creative outlet.

Ahem.

And, I'm also toying of the idea of writing a sequel, because back when I first got the idea to do this, I initially wanted to do it entirely about something that was only mentioned briefly in chapter six. Its hard, though, because all of the ideas for that got used in here…and I'd want to make it a little darker than this one, and the whole reason I wrote this was to be lighthearted. Hahaha.

Also? Mackey/Choksondik porno was done just for Seaouryou. Because Seaouryouthe awesomes!11!sixteen!

-Sidra, out for now


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